


Huracán

by xxpaynoxx



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gang World, Gun Violence, Guns, Knives, M/M, Shooting, Stabbing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-07 13:10:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7716028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxpaynoxx/pseuds/xxpaynoxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Weapons are who Neymar is. That’s how Brazil was, but luckily as he looks at the greasy green sign lit by flickering white LED lights, this wasn’t Brazil. This was Argentina, ruled in the iron fist of Javier Mascherano and Lionel Messi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. el principio

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know, I just can't stop writing new series and ignoring my old ones. But I promise, this is the last one I'm starting. I kind of know where I want to go with this one, so the updates won't be too bad, but who knows, with college coming up and all. I hope you enjoy the first chapter.

Normally, at the bar, you don’t get new people, especially here.

But nevertheless, Leo is perplexed by this kid, who looks _new_.

He’s incredibly young, ratty blonde-brown hair and tattoos spiraling up his arms. His eyebrows are done, a scar raking through one of them with a story behind it that he doesn’t mention as he knocks back his drink of gin and tonic. He’s quiet; there’s not many quiet people in this area of Buenos Aires these days, but. Leo relishes it a bit more than he should.

He asks Gerard on the background behind him as the kid leaves somewhat the same way he came in, like a shadow; silent.

His friend, surprisingly, shrugs.

“Nobody knows. He crawled into the territory like, three days ago. Now, apparently, I’ve been told he’s staying at the mansion, since Mascherano offered him a room. Dear Javier hasn’t thought to tell me this, which makes me suspicious already. The problem is, we don’t know where he came from or anything. He hasn’t spoken a word since he came over, and he’d crawled in all bloody, with muddy tight jeans and shoes and a plain black shirt wet with blood, a gun tucked nicely in his boxer shorts.”

Leo’s eyebrows raise as he wipes the counter down, the bar empty except for Gerard, rocking his bar seat back on two legs (Leo always tells him that he’ll put dents in the wooden floor, but none have sprung up and Gerard wouldn’t have stopped anyway) and Kun out wiping the side booths down and mopping the floor.

Gerard leans forward, a smirk on his face like he’s throwing the punchline of a joke into the air, and Leo instinctively leans forward to meet him.

“The blood on his shirt. None of it was his.”

This isn’t the first time Leo’s heard that description on someone in this city, but this one strikes a little too close to home. This kid, this _child_ who didn’t look any older than eighteen, already knew how to handle a gun and probably killed an entire room of people without thinking twice.

“What kind of fucked up world do we live in, Geri?” he mumbles. Gerard doesn’t say anything, but Kun does.

“It’s Buenos Aires, Leo. It’s how it’s always been.”

“When did the norm become throwing kids out on the street with guns and forcing them to kill for us?”

“Leo-”

Leo throws his towel underneath the counter and tears off his bartender apron, wrapping it on a knob next to the door. “Come on, we’re closing up,” he says in a clipped tone. Gerard swigs his beer down in one go, following him out. Kun doesn’t acknowledge that Leo has said anything, still humming some Spanish song and rubbing his mop across the floor. Leo leaves the keys, knowing he’ll lock up.

The walk back to the mansion is long, Gerard’s hands shoved into his pockets and the streetlights flickering above their heads. There’s a few Christmas lights strung across the cobblestone street, which gives a homely tone to the walk home, but Leo knows that’s it’s a ruse.

The mansion sits on a hill, all white stone and marble, looking coldly over the bright city. The lights in the main room are on, and there’s shadows in the windows, which set Leo on edge as he walks up to the door, punching in the code and opening it, the hinges swinging easily as he enters, Gerard close behind him.

The foyer is empty, thank goodness, so Leo and Gerard make their way to the staircase quietly, until a door opens on the side.

One of the people who exits is Mascherano, wiping his hands clean on a towel. The second person makes Leo freeze on the stairs, eyes narrowed at how close he follows Mascherano, a black gun glinting from his belt. He watches them converse in low voices before Mascherano looks up, and lets a smile tug at his lips as he approaches them.

“Ah, you two are finally back. How was the bar tonight? Leo mess up your drink again, Geri?” he jokes, shaking their hands. Gerard laughs, but Leo’s eyes never leave the second person’s face. It’s passive, not giving any emotion away; he was definitely one that was hard to read, but according to what Gerard had told him about the guy, there was a reason.

Mascherano catches his eye and turns to the second person.

“Oh, I don’t believe you’ve been introduced to Neymar yet? He’s the new guy around here, don’t be too hard on him,” Mascherano says lightly, but there’s something else there, something that tells Leo that he needs to speak with him alone.

So Gerard goes off with Neymar, showing him to his room, and Leo follows Mascherano into the den.

“He’s interesting, that’s for sure,” Mascherano says, sitting down in one of the high-backed chairs, looking into the fire. The flames flicker against his eyes, turning them a dark auburn, but Leo sits down opposite him, hardly intimidated by his old friend.

That is, until Mascherano looks at him like a fly on the wall.

“What?” Leo responds innocently, but Mascherano says nothing, his eyes raking over Leo’s face as if searching for a reaction.

“What did you see at the bar tonight? Did he act weird? Suspicious?”

Leo shrugs. “He didn’t speak to anyone, just came and drank and left. Like a shadow.”

Mascherano apparently takes this as enough for him, but he doesn’t relax back into the chair like Leo was anticipating.

“He’s from Brazil, Leo. He’s dangerous.”

“We’ve had plenty of people from Brazil come through here. All they want is sex, drugs and-”

“He’s different.”

“I know, he came on his hands and knees covered in someone else’s blood. I heard.”

Mascherano blinks. “No, not some _one_ else’s, Leo. You don’t know?” he asks. Leo shrugs once again.

“He’s from São Paulo. He’s the guy who went on that slaughter in Cristiano’s own home. He killed _all_ of them. That blood on him? It belonged to at least twenty other people.”

Leo goes tense.

People from São Paulo are not normal, at least not anything like the people here in Rosario. They’re given a gun at age twelve and are forced to kill someone they love as initiation into one of the many gangs. Soccer is everything there, too, but it’s strictly controlled by the gangs. The police are nonexistent, mainly since they’ve given up on trying to defend the common people. Matches are played, and the rewards for winning are that the team gets to live another day. The losers are taken out back and shot.

Leo has never been to Brazil, let alone São Paulo. He doesn’t ever plan to, since what he’s heard has completely turned him off of ever traveling there. But this new kid, who doesn’t even look old enough to be an adult, going on a killing spree at a Portuguese gang headquarters, alone? This is _unheard_ of.

“What has been happening there that we don’t know about?”

“I don’t know, even Dani doesn’t know. He knows who Neymar is, but he refuses to give out any other information. He tells me if Neymar thinks we are in danger, he would tell us. So far he’s told me his name and how old he is. I’m sure more will spill in the coming days.”

Leo nods to himself.

“I need sleep. Gerard decided to keep me past my closing time once again. Kun is closing up tonight.”

Mascherano smirks. “That is Gerard’s thing, no? He loves to tease you, doesn’t he?” he jokes.

“It’s not funny, I have customers who could get agitated when they realize I’m keeping the bar open for one person that isn’t them,” Leo whines as they exit the den, “and I have a reputation to keep up.”

Mascherano smacks the back of his head. “Go to bed, I’ll give you your next assignment tomorrow,” he says with finality, before walking off.


	2. la trama se complica

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leo is concerned. Neymar is hiding something. Gerard knows things.

There’s thudding, coming from somewhere in the building.

Leo has been tossing and turning for three hours now, the red digital clock burned into his retinas as he lies on his back, staring at the ceiling and gnawing at his lip.

He doesn’t like Neymar, at least not right now.

Technically, he doesn’t like how he hasn’t spoken a word to him, at all. Mascherano obviously trusts him, but Leo doesn’t take other people’s trust as a green light. The last time that happened, Leo lost everything.

The thudding hasn’t stopped, so he sighs and slides out of bed, shivering as the cold air hits his naked chest. He throws on a t-shirt, yawning as he opens his door and sneaks down the hall.

The thudding is coming from the recreation room, and sure enough, when Leo opens the door and sees harsh white light coming from the room, he tiptoes down the stairs silently, the thudding getting louder and louder with each step.

He gets to the floor, and spies Neymar.

The Brazilian is naked from the waist up, black tattoos spiraling across his arms and scars all across his back. There’s eagle wings on his neck, above a tattoo spelling _Blessed_. There’s an odd white scar that stretches across his lower back, and Leo takes a note of it as he approaches him.

The thudding is coming from the knives, nailing the target at least twenty feet away, headshot every time. Leo watches him, his jaw set as he throws the weapon in perfect form, the knife nailing the head of the dummy and making it sway almost off of its feet.

The thudding stops, and Leo looks up to lock eyes with Neymar, who is looking at him with a steady gaze. There’s a knife in his hand, loosely held in his hold.

“I didn’t know you could throw knives,” he says, and his voice sounds so loud in the basement, echoing off the cement walls. Neymar shrugs, moving to the table and sorting through the weapons on the table. He’s emptied the entire weapon cabinet of them, all sizes and levels of sharpness.

Leo tries to engage him in conversation, asking him what Mascherano was talking to him about, but Neymar just ignores him. He seems tense, eyes flickering across the knives lined up on the table.

That’s when Leo makes the mistake of snorting and muttering that he’s a “typical Brazilian”.

He’s against the cement wall in seconds, Neymar’s face mere centimeters from his own, a knife pressed against his throat. His jaw is tight, teeth gritted together and eyes on fire. Leo is almost intimidated until he remembers that he could kill him using just that knife.

Leo just laughs.

“Didn’t like that, did you?” he snickers, and Neymar presses the knife closer to his throat.

“Don’t you _ever_ call me that again,” he snarls, in perfect Spanish, and Leo’s eyes widen, his heartbeat starting to race. The knife is pressing closer into his skin, and he can feel it break underneath the cold metal, a drop making its way down his chest and disappearing into his t-shirt.

Eventually, Neymar lets go, muttering “stupid Argentine” under his breath, moving away and letting Leo stumble forward, clutching his throat to make sure there wasn’t any permanent damage.

Then he makes a point to turn around and throw the bloody knife fifty feet directly between the dummy’s eyes.

“Good aim,” Leo says from the floor, and Neymar looks back at him with a smirk.

“Not just good. The _best_.”

Leo rolls his eyes.

“When did you even learn to do that?” he asks, gesturing to the dummy, which is currently lying on the floor, the knife stuck up to the handle in its face.

Neymar goes quiet all of a sudden, and Leo can’t see his face because his back is turned, but he can see his fingers curl into fists.

“That’s none of your fucking business.”

He says it in a low, soft voice, the words spoken with a tremor as if Leo had asked about a dead relative dear to him or something of that nature. But unfortunately, Leo just didn’t know how to keep his curiosity at bay, and he goes on the defensive.

“I need to know you aren’t _dangerous_. For all I know, you could be a traitor working for-“

Neymar whips around and kneels down, grabbing Leo’s jaw in his hand, his eyes wet and his his fingers shaking against Leo’s skin.

“I’m not. I don’t do that shit. I’m here to help you.”

His voice is shaky, and he looks nothing like the man who had been throwing knives at the dummy not ten minutes earlier. Leo doesn’t know whether to believe him, but he looks like a kid, and Leo sees _himself_.

He sees himself in those eyes, the ones that look like they’re about to release tears down his cheeks, showing another side of Neymar that Leo really wasn’t anticipating seeing at three o’clock in the morning.

Eventually, after searching Neymar’s gaze and not seeing anything other than pure truth, Leo pushes him off and gets up, rubbing the back of his head.

“I’ll, uh, I guess I’ll see you around, then,” he mumbles, and he nearly catches a smile from Neymar, a flash of white teeth, before his typical bored expression settles on his face once again.

He walks back up the stairs, intending on going back to bed with his heart a little lighter. He felt a little better having a conversation with Neymar (if you count being held at knifepoint as “peaceful conversation”), and he definitely feels better-

“Holy _shit_ , Gerard!”

Leo opens the door and nearly screams, clamping a hand over his mouth and stumbling into the hallway, the door slamming shut as his friend emerges from the shadows, flicking the hallway light on, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

“What were you doing down there? Watching him chuck knives at that stupid crash dummy?” he says, as if expecting a different answer, and Leo shrugs.

“I know we can trust him now, at least. He’s hiding something, but I don’t think it’s bad.”

Gerard’s expression falls.

“He is. Mascherano knows, we spoke when you were asleep.”

Leo freezes.

“What is he hiding?” he asks, but Gerard is looking away from him now, taking an incredible interest in the articulate pattern sewn onto the velvet carpet floor.

Leo asks again, and Gerard looks at him.

“Remember how he was with Cristiano? In Brazil? He forgot one important detail.”

Leo holds his breath as Gerard delivers the cutting blow.

“He was there, but he wasn’t a prisoner. He worked for him.”

It’s silent as the blow sinks in, and then Leo snorts.

“Gerard, that doesn’t add up. If he worked for him, then why did he turn against him? You’re missing some important details here.”

Gerard shrugs. “That’s all Mascherano got out of him, but he seems to trust him. Just, don’t put _your_ trust in him so easily, not just yet,” he explains, and Leo sighs.

“Fine. Let’s go to bed, I’m tired,” he says with finality, and Gerard follows him upstairs, bidding him a quiet goodnight.

Leo doesn’t sleep well, tossing and turning until his alarm buzzes, his mind refusing to let Neymar’s situation go.

_If he really did work for Cristiano, why did he betray him? Did he really kill all those people? What happened that night?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will be either a flashback or an interrogation scene, I'm not sure which quite yet. i hopeyou guys liked this!


	3. trágica sorpresa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leo gets some unfortunate news. Nobody takes it well.

Leo gets home late again, and it’s fucking _raining_.

It’s been a few weeks since Leo has seen Neymar enough to speak to him; Mascherano keeps him busy doing God-knows what (probably interrogation, now that Leo thinks about it), but he’s been able to catch him and say hello and talk to him.

He’s learned that he’s good at cooking when he made their meal the other night; he learns that he had a sister and parents in Brazil, although he refused to elaborate on where they are now (refused as in glared at him and didn’t speak, and Leo kind of took the hint).

Leo gets under the balcony and pulls off his jacket, wringing it on the stone and flapping it a few times to help it dry before huddling in the doorway. He knows Gerard and Masche aren’t back yet, since they’d gone out to do “things” (he knows exactly what _things_ they are, which meant they wouldn’t be back until late), so he just tries to fish out the key that is currently stuck to his pants pocket from the rain.

Then, there’s a snap in the bushes.

Leo freezes, his eyes snapping to the hedge lining the property. They have a _terrible_ deer problem on the lawn, and they seemed to think it was okay to go after Gerard’s prized tomatoes, but something tells him it’s not a deer.

It’s too much commotion for a deer.

His hands go straight to the gun on his hip, sliding it out and coming down the steps, glaring into the night. There’s almost no visibility, but the bush is clearly shuddering from whoever is stuck inside of it as Leo moves close, peering through the leaves, gun cocked and ready to fire.

He doesn’t expect a hand to shoot out and lock around the front of his shirt, scrabbling for a hold on the fabric. Leo rears back, firing once and then again at the sky, his hands pinwheeling as he tries to grab ahold of the hand and keep his balance, staggering backward and dragging out whoever was hiding in the bushes.

At first, the figure lies motionless on the cement, which gives Leo a few seconds to figure out who it is.

They’re dressed in all black and covered in mud and blood, red oozing onto the cement from what seems like _everywhere_. They’re lying on their front, facedown, so it doesn’t look too bad until Leo peers over and sees the knife protruding from their back.

Well, “knife” is an understatement.

The blade is dug in up to the hilt, the gold pattern glittering with blood in the glaring yellow light of the front porch. They’re breathing, somehow, and the weapon is oozing blood, quickly pooling the cement. It’ll probably stain, which kind of pisses Leo off until he remembers that this person could be bleeding out and dying on his driveway.

That’s when they cough, more blood spraying out and coloring their muddy face with more blood, and they roll onto their side, eyes narrowed to slits with pain.

It’s then that they speak, just a slurred rendition of his name and Leo freezes, because _he knows that voice._

“ _Rafinha?_ ”

The person laughs before choking on blood again, clearing their throat as they wipe the blood from their chin with a torn portion of their shirt.

“Yeah, it’s me. I can’t believe I’m gonna die on a fucking _driveway_.”

“Not on my watch, you stubborn piece of shit,” Leo growls, his mind going into overdrive as he hauls him up and throws Rafinha’s arm around his shoulders, ignoring the growl of pain from the young Brazilian’s mouth as he stumbles up the steps and punches the code into the keypad, not bothering with the key anymore.

“I need a doctor!” he bellows as he drags Rafinha in. There’s only a young maid standing in the foyer, whose jaw drops with massive eyes and scampers off to find said medic. Leo lets go of Rafinha, who sinks to the floor and shuts his eyes. His face is ashy, and his lips are spattered with blood. He’s shaking too, probably from blood loss, but as Leo kneels down next to him, he realizes he’s _crying_.

“What happened? Where’s Dani, Adriano, Douglas?”

Rafinha is shuddering harder now, choked sobs filled with blood slipping out of his lips, tears coursing down his face, his head shaking back and forth.

“Dead. Dead, they’re all dead, they’re all fucking _dead_.”

Luckily, Sergi arrives just then, their medical doctor on hand, with bright blue eyes and shaggy, curly blonde hair. His small hands cup Rafinha’s face and his thumbs go to his neck as he checks for a pulse, before yelling in rapid Catalan at the four men who have entered with him.

They all pick him up gingerly, before racing down the aisle they’d come in from. Sergio stands up, his face grim as he looks at Leo.

Sergi has been here for what seems like all his life; Leo hears that Mascherano raised him like a son, and that’s why he doesn’t leave the house. He went and got his doctor’s degree by pulling a few strings and getting to operate on the injured spies who return from abroad, and he’s the best they’ve got.

He goes to open his mouth, but is cut off by the door opening.

Gerard stumbles in first, a massive smile on his face as he drags Neymar in with him, who is tucked under his arm and looks equally excited, his white teeth flashing as he laughs at whatever Gerard had said. Mascherano follows them, a tight-lipped grin on as he slams the door behind him.

Gerard straightens then, realizing that Leo is standing with Sergi in front of them, but the smile doesn’t drop.

“Damn, Leo, this kid is sick, he gets this voice on when he’s threatening someone and he just _glares_ at them and i was just standing there in awe of him! He’s _perfect!_ ” he exclaims, and Leo watches Neymar blush under his arm, eyes darting around as if looking for an exit, perhaps to run off to his room in embarrassment.

Mascherano smirks. “We did road patrol. Seems a few guys decided to get a little too hands with a girl who didn’t look too pleased, so we-“

He stops then, because he’s finally noticed Leo’s bloody clothes and muddy hands.

Gerard’s face falls, but Neymar looks attentive, like a shark in the water. It ends up being Mascherano who steps forward, his expression serious.

“What have you been up to?” he asks slowly in a scathing tone with a completely different demeanor from nearly thirty seconds beforehand. He looks at Sergi, who just gestures at Leo.

Leo gulps.

“I found Rafinha.”

There’s a choking noise from behind Mascherano, and all four of them men direct their attention to Neymar, who has gone as white as a sheet. His eyes are wide, and he looks like he’s seen a ghost, which gives Leo a bad feeling in his stomach.

“What happened?” Mascherano prompts him, but Leo can’t help but watch as Neymar shudders against Gerard and looks one step away from collapsing into a panic attack. Gerard pulls him in close, wrapping him close to his chest as he glances at Leo worriedly, who pulls at the bottom of his shirt and takes a deep breath.

“He got stabbed in the back. I found him in the bushes when I came home, and he looks like shit and I thought he was going to die and-“

Mascherano holds a hand up, clearly done with whatever he’s saying, but his eyes don’t leave Leo’s.

Neymar’s breath hitches and he pushes past Mascherano, who looks like he’s going to cut off his head as Neymar grasps Leo’s face in his hands, franticly looking from one eye to the other.

“What about the others? Where are Dani, Douglas, Adriano?”

Neymar’s hands are warm and firm against his cheeks, and normally Leo wouldn’t be at a loss for words, but he is until Neymar shakes his head a bit with his hands. Leo doesn’t really think about why Neymar would know them, why he would even care, but he tells him anyway, stuttering a little.

“T-They’re dead. All of them, dead.”

There’s a moment of dead silence, Mascherano’s eyes stretched wide in shock. Gerard’s jaw has dropped open, and Sergi stiffens next to him.

Neymar’s hands shake uncontrollably as he pulls them away before his eyes roll up into his head and he collapses on the spot.

Gerard swoops forward, catching him before he smashes his head against the marble and scoops him up, Neymar looking like one of those slim wooden dolls with his skinny form cradled in Gerard’s arms, his head pressed against his massive barrel chest.

They all look at Mascherano, who looks at Leo and, for the first time in Leo’s life, an emotion that looks like _worry_ flashes across his friend’s face.

“I think we need to have a little talk with Neymar. Seems that there’s things going on in Brazil that we don’t know and we need to know.”

Leo’s heart sinks into his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to go a different route with this, in case you didn't notice, but the next chapter is going to be interrogation definitely. There'll be some more characters introduced, which you'll enjoy because it'll give some more depth into the Brazilian issue that has popped up. And before you guys freak, I am keeping Rafinha alive...for now.


	4. escena retrospectiva

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neymar has a flashback.

_Today was the big day._

_He’d arrived at the stadium early, and he was sitting on the curb, feet tapping to the Brazilian pop blaring through his headphones. Technically, where they were playing wasn’t a real stadium; it was the only one in São Paulo, and it was just grass, not turf like the fields in Rio. It was good enough for them, anyway._

_He’s there before the rival team. They arrive in elegance, with a massive white bus with tall tinted glass windows. They’re all matching, too, dark purple sweat jackets and black jeans, sauntering off the bus, past Neymar and into the stadium._

_Dani’s car pulls up behind them, a sight for sore eyes next to the rival’s transportation. It’s a beat up old van, with the Brazilian flag spray-painted on the side. The doors creak open, and the engine cuts out as Dani himself hops out of the van, leopard-print sunglasses on top of his head as he hefts his bag onto his shoulder._

_He’s followed by Rafinha, who has one earbud in, the other swinging and hitting his chest as he walks forward, eyes glued to his phone. Marcelo comes next, pulling his headband on as he follows. Douglas and Adriano are stuck together at the hip, whispering in each other’s ears. Casemiro eyes the massive bus in front of them with disdain as he walks forward._

_The rest of the team follows Dani as he approaches the curb, nudging Neymar’s shoulder with the front of his golden-studded shoe, brilliant, crazy smile stretched across his face. “Hey, hijo, are you ready for today?” he asks, drawing out the word today as Neymar gets up, pulling his bag onto his shoulder._

_“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he mutters, and he knows Dani catches it because he swings an arm around Neymar’s neck, pulling him close as he walks him in._

_“That’s the spirit, Ney!”_

* * *

 

_The tunnel is tense, and nobody is speaking._

_Neymar is at the front of the line, their makeshift captain’s armband around his bicep as he shakes his legs out and jumps up and down. Alisson is behind him, looking stoic and fierce as ever from not shaving his beard. He doesn’t so much as blink at Neymar as he turns and pats him on the chest for good luck._

_There’s a hand on his shoulder then, and Neymar turns to meet the eyes of Alvaro Morata, one of the opposing midfielders. He’s got a baby face with brown eyes, but they’re cold as they look Neymar up and down, like a wolf surveying a piece of meat._

_“Don’t win today, if you know what’s good for you.”_

_Alvaro’s voice is like ice, and it sends a chill down Neymar’s back as he pulls away, shooting him a fake smile and returning to his place in line._

_His hands are shaking, but Alisson’s sudden hand on his shoulder steadies him. “Don’t listen to him,” he says simply, in a low tone, but the words weigh on Neymar’s shoulders like rocks._

_Nobody has beaten Alvaro’s team. Actually, that’s a lie; people have, but they go missing afterwards. Neymar has woken up to half of his village missing some days. There’s no explanation, and there’s no questions asked, but the police never look into it either._

_The whistle shakes Neymar back to reality, and he walks out onto the pitch, the gray sky making the stadium seem darker than it really is. It’s almost like a sign._

_He sighs._

* * *

_Halftime, and they’re at 0-0._

_When the second half whistle is ready to be blown, Neymar sees movement in the stands. There’s a man dressed in a suit, with tan skin and gold-studded sunglasses sitting in the top row, arms swung wide to rest on the top of the seats next to him. Neymar knows it’s Cristiano Ronaldo, the manager; he’s seen him plenty of times, and none of them were good. There’s guards near him, too, with the biggest guns Neymar has ever seen. It sets him on edge._

_But that doesn’t stop him slipping through the defense and placing the ball in the top corner of the net in the ninety-third minute._

_As he celebrates, he slides to the corner as his team piles on top of him, howling in Portuguese. The final whistle is drowned out by the crowd, who are all on their feet, yelling and clapping, making the noise deafening. It sends Neymar’s blood roaring, but it stops as soon as Cristiano stands up._

_He surveys the field, and the crowd is quiet. It’s like everyone is holding their breath as he makes his way down the bleachers and onto the field. His team scrambles to their feet and stands in a weird formation, with Neymar in the middle next to Rafinha, Dani near the front of Casemiro at the back with Marcelo, Douglas and Adriano. Alisson is so close behind him that Neymar can hear his heartbeat in his ears._

_It’s like a process, like people have gone through this before; the crowd leaves, the bleachers empty quickly until there’s nobody left but the two teams and Cristiano, who is striding onto the field with the two guards behind him._

_He walks up to Dani first, who flinches as he runs his thumb across his face, smirking. “Good job today,” he says, and it almost sounds like a compliment until he orders them all to follow the guards inside._

_Neymar catches Alvaro’s eye as he leaves, and he just shakes his head and turns away._

_They go deep into the stadium, down lots of stairs, the path so confusing that Neymar knew he would never be able to find the place they’re going to again even if he tried._

_A large, unblemished white door looms in front of them, and Neymar feels Rafinha trembling next to him as Cristiano jingles with the keys in his hand to open the door. He doesn’t reach for his hand, not yet, but as the smell hits him, the scent of blood and flesh, he winces and forces himself not to recoil._

_He’s the luckier one; Casemiro ends up retching on the floor before they enter the room._

_The room itself is all concrete. There’s a drain in the middle of the floor, and there’s liquid on the walls. Neymar can take a guess as to what it is, but he decides not to dwell on that as the guards go around, ordering players to line up on the wall, facing them._

_Rafinha grabs Neymar’s hand then, and he squeezes it gently as the guards approach them. His hand stretches out, ready to grab Neymar’s shirt, and he’s ready to flinch away when-_

_“Wait.”_  
  
_The guard hesitates, before looking back at Cristiano in confusion._

_Cristiano’s gaze is burning into Neymar’s face as he approaches him, towering over him as his hand reaches out to cup his face, running his thumb across his cheekbone. His lips part in a catlike smirk, and he turns to the guards._

_“Spare him and his friends, and Dani, of course. I want them.”_

_He doesn’t like the tone of voice that he uses, or the way the guards shuffle them into a corner, facing his teammates. Douglas and Adriano are clinging to each other, and Dani is at the back, Neymar’s back pressed against his chest, Rafinha’s hands in both of theirs._

_Casemiro looks stiff, but his eyes are wide in fear. Marcelo is visibly shaking, but Alisson looks calm and composed. His eyes connect with Neymar’s, and there’s no expression but understanding in them._

_He doesn’t realize what’s happening until the guards cock their guns._

_“No!” he cries out, reaching forward, but Dani pulls him back as the guns go off like explosions. It leaves Neymar’s ears ringing, as he watches his teammates fall to the floor, blood oozing out of the holes in their heads. It all happens so quickly that Neymar can barely process what just happened until he looks down._

_Alisson’s eyes are still open._

_Neymar nearly throws up in his mouth as he turns away, shuddering into Dani’s chest, covering his mouth and nose with his hand to block out the scent of blood in the room. He hears Cristiano bark out an order, faintly, and then he’s moving, face pressed into Dani’s shoulder._

_“Why? Why did he do that?” he whispers into Dani’s shirt._

_“Now you know where all those missing people went.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took me so long to come up with. However, I have a few more chapters now outlined, so I should be able to update more regularly.


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